


must be love

by tanyart



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Recall, Prompt Fic, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 01:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9694502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Three different scenes and three different times, but it's all still the same.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for elevias for the McGenji Valentines Exchange! Happy Valentines Day!
> 
> Prompts: demons, sparring, comfort.

**||demons ||**

 

It’s the flanker that catches them by surprise.  

Heat signatures flare up in Genji’s vision, his sight protected from the ensuing blast.  Still, he blinks against the glare, more out of shock than the need to shield his eyes.  Even with his cybernetics, it takes an agonizing moment to process everything—the explosion, the burning vehicles and the paved street caving in on itself.

Jesse blown back to the ground.

Genji moves.  He starts to see things in quick flashes, jumping over rubble and what’s left of the payload.  Red swims in his vision, as hot and violent as the fire that burns around him.  His sword crackles in his hand, electric point sinking through the Talon agent’s chest.  The smell of charred flesh creeps past the filters of his helmet, but the scent fades as Genji takes breath after breath, filling his lungs with something that feels dangerously like vicious satisfaction.  His sword pulls free and turns, looking for more.  It’s not enough.

Eventually, when his sword cuts through more targets than he can count, the distant part of Genji that doesn’t scream for blood acknowledges the empty streets and the retreating enemies.  The payload is destroyed, medical equipment for the new Overwatch base now in pieces, and there is no reason to defend it any longer.  He stares after the rest of the running Talon soldiers, chest heaving, but the voice from his earpiece orders him not to follow.  His lip curls into a snarl.  He wants to chase them down, but that had been his mistake in the first place, nothing but arrogance and ruthless intentions.  

Behind him, Jesse is bright red with blood and unmoving on the street.  Ultimately, it’s what makes Genji turn on his heel and rush back.

He crouches down.  The gunfire around him tapers off, though his heart still rattles a quick staccato beat beneath his ribs. Genji reaches over, fingers sliding over Jesse’s throat to the side of his neck, checking for a pulse.

Sometimes, he can feel for these things.  Other times, Genji needs to lean over, bend his head near Jesse’s mouth, and listen very carefully for a breath—or look very, very carefully for the rise and fall of his chest.

It is difficult to hear, difficult to see.  Genji thinks about removing his helmet, but he is unsure of what the rest of the world will hear, once the faceplate comes off and words come spilling out.  It will be inhuman, he thinks.  Or all together too human for his liking.

Jesse takes in one shuddering breath, and then another and another.  A yellow light surrounds them both, and Genji lifts his head.

Angela’s hand passes over the top of his helmet. Her touch is light, but it’s all the force he needs to lower his head once more.

“No one is blaming you, Genji,” she says, looking over the wreckage.

It suddenly occurs to Genji that he has been babbling nonsensical things, all useless in hindsight—the words ‘ _my fault’_ still on the tip of his tongue.

“I _know_ no one is blaming me,” he mutters, forehead still resting over Jesse’s chest. “I’m blaming _myself_.”

“Ah,” Angela says, rueful.  She kneels down next to him, blood staining her boots despite her staff being trained on Jesse.  “I suppose that makes two of us.”

Genji chokes back a laugh.

 

* * *

 

  
**||sparring ||**  


 

The battle leaves Jesse out of sorts for the longest time.  He sits in some far off corner with his head in his hands, thoughts scattered and incomplete.  It’s always like this after facing Reaper.  He thinks he ought to be used to the idea by now, that if he aims his gun at Reaper, he’s going to be shooting at Gabriel Reyes, and maybe the world would be better if he hadn’t hesitated each time.

He stares down at his hands, both flesh and mechanical, fingers spread out over his knees.  He knows he can shoot, knows that his eyes are still sharp and the grip on his gun never shakes.  It’s not a fluke that he misses Reaper each time, but something very deliberate on his part—to wound instead of kill when he is more than capable of doing the latter.  

This is how Genji finds him; Peacekeeper dismantled messily on the floor of the armory, him sitting in the dark, forehead pressed to his knees, quiet.

“Ah,” Genji says. “There you are.”

Jesse glances up, a little embarrassed and a little resentful at being caught.  He stands, not much liking the way Genji is looking at him, all worried and looking like he wants to fix it.  

Genji reaches out, and Jesse can’t bring himself to move.  Genji’s mechanized hands are cold against his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheeks, but it’s not something he wants to feel right now.  He tilts his head away, letting Genji’s hands slide down his arms.  

Genji presses closer, insistent lips brushing beneath his jaw, and Jesse sighs.  It’s just like him to try to ease anything away with intimate touches or charming distractions.  Jesse feels too restless with the wrong kind of volatile energy, and the last thing he wants is for Genji to get caught in the crossfire.

“I’m not…” he mumbles, letting himself be dragged when Genji pulls at his arm.  He about to stand his ground but he realizes they aren’t heading back to their quarters.

“In the mood?” Genji asks, opening the door to the training room.  

Jesse pauses, glancing from the sparring ring to Genji.  Somehow, he hadn’t counted on Genji _wanting_ to be caught in the crossfire of his frustration.  But that, in a weird way, is just like Genji too.  Jesse huffs, not quite a laugh, not quite a scoff.

He gestures to Genji’s swords.

“Not a fair fight, sweetheart.  Left my gun back in the armory.”

It’s a little funny, thinking about it.  They make quite a pair.  In a world of automated weapons and evolving tech, Jesse swings by with a manual revolver, and Genji somehow makes do with a set of blades. Some just things can’t replace the feel of your own finger squeezing the trigger or your own arm driving the point of your swords.  

It makes killing all the more personal, he supposes.  A little less automatic, and a little more intentional.

Genji unclips his swords, setting them aside.  He raises his hands, curling them into fists, and bounces on his toes, more taunting than playful.

“I was thinking hand-to-hand,” he says, ribbon fluttering behind him. “It’s been a while.”

Jesse feels his hands clench at his sides, surprisingly eager at the prospect.  He thinks Genji may have the advantage, but there’s really only one way to find out and he’s feeling reckless.

“I think you’re right,” he says, and follows Genji to the ring.

They fight with a single light flickering above them and the old mat creaking under their feet.  Genji flashes in front of him, all a green blur, and Jesse thinks at first he has no chance of winning.  Hand to hand combat isn’t his specialty, and while he’s confident about throwing a punch, he doubts getting a hit in against a cyborg with enhanced agility.  

It’s difficult, and Genji doesn’t check back his strength or quickness.  Jesse is spitting blood from his mouth in no time, jaw and teeth throbbing.  

After a while, he finds that it’s difficult, but not impossible.

He doesn’t know if it’s experience or simply because he has fought alongside Genji for so long.  Genji movements get easier to track, sharp eyes catching the neat pattern of Genji’s footwork and the way he favors his punches.  Jesse times himself, matching Genji at his slower pace.  He might not have Genji’s grace or quickness, but he’s got enough patience to wait for the moment Genji pauses in mid-step to turn, and land a solid blow to Genji’s abdomen with his metal arm.

Genji stumbles, the breath visibly knocked from him, and then it’s all a matter of tackling him from the waist and pinning him to the ground.

Genji struggles beneath him, fingers splaying for a quick moment and forearm clicking, as if trying to summon his shuriken.  Jesse distantly appreciates the instinct, the slip of coherence, and then Genji stops struggling.  He puts his hand over Genji’s throat.  

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jesse breathes, blood dripping from his nose.  He sits back before the droplets can fall on Genji’s face.  He frowns, offended.  “You let me win.”

“Did I?” Genji asks, teeth flashing.  He surges up, legs sweeping beneath Jesse, knocking him over.  

Jesse lands hard on his side, metal arm catching the majority of his weight.  Genji takes advantage, grabbing Jesse’s good arm around his back and forcing him to his stomach.  Jesse curses up a storm as Genji’s palm slams into the back of his head, pressing his cheek to the ground.  Now it’s Jesse’s turn to struggle, but Genji’s got a complicated hold on him that’s a hundred times better than just sitting down with all his weight on top.  

Genji leans down, ragged breathing hot in Jesse’s ear. “I’m fighting you with all my heart, I promise.”

Jesse can’t help back laugh, helpless.  He gives one more twist, one more try to escape, but Genji bears all his strength down, his hold crushing and painful.  Jesse sucks in his breath.

“Alright.  I yield,” he says on the next exhale, and the relentless pressure from Genji is off him in a second, replaced by a lighter touch at his neck.  

He rolls onto his back, blessedly exhausted and temper burned out.  His entire body aches and he lifts his hands to inspect their bruised knuckles and new metal dents.  

“Still not a fair fight,” Jesse muses, letting his hands fall back.  He sniffs, blood a warm trickle from his nose now to match the coppery tang in his mouth.

But Genji’s palms are cool on each side of his face, lips gentle along his jaw, and Jesse doesn’t mind it so much now.

 

* * *

 

  

**||comfort ||**

 

 

Genji wakes up with a start, bedsheets clinging to his body, the soft crackle of harmless static playing over his bare synthetic skin.  He stares up at a familiar ceiling, though he knows it isn’t his room.  The medbay is getting to be less of regular sight upon waking, thankfully, but he recognizes it enough to not immediately jump out from the cot, wondering where he is.  

He shuts his eyes again, feeling uneasy from the vague images of fading nightmares still trying to cling on through consciousness.  His last confused thought had been of broken bodies and mechanical parts, along with the scent of burning flesh.  It’s an old nightmare, though he cannot shake the idea of rough hair brushing over his cheek and the feel of someone’s voice humming against his throat—two things wholly different and misplaced from his usual dreams.

Genji tries to lift his hand and finds it already occupied. He turns his head, looking down to see Jesse slumped over at the edge of the bed, asleep with his head pillowed on his prosthetic arm while his free hand rests over Genji’s own in a loose hold.

Genji stares for a moment, noting how Jesse’s brow looks pinched and the way his mouth is drawn down in an unhappy line.  Even in sleep, neither of them do not seem to get enough rest.  Jesse looks exhausted, hair disheveled and old clothes wrinkled, but Genji decides it would be kinder to wake him up.

He squeezes his hand once and pulls away.  After a split second of deliberation, he shakes Jesse by the shoulder.

“Jesse,” he says, though his voice comes out involuntarily soft.

Jesse blinks awake, sleepy gaze falling on Genji.  For a second, he smiles, so inexplicably sweet and gentle Genji’s breath catches with a terrible sinking feeling of inevitability washing over him.  It’s an open expression made for unguarded moments and a quieter life less violent than theirs, and even Genji isn’t sure if the smile had been truly meant for him or for some happier dream.

Jesse blinks again, frowning as he becomes more aware of his surroundings, but by then Genji has already looked away at some indiscriminate spot over his shoulder.

“How you feeling?” Jesse asks, rubbing his eyes.  He sits back on his heels.

“Very well, all things considered,” Genji says, gesturing to the bedside table.  His armor plates are piled on top, most of them cracked and in need of repair, including his helmet.  The explosion had not treated the armor kindly, though Genji assumes his own body had fared better because of Angela’s quick healing. “How about the mission?”

“Well, this might not be very shocking to you, but it basically went to hell after you blew yourself up,” Jesse says, with no small amount of disapproval in his voice.

“Not on purpose, I assure you.”

“Y’damn right, not on purpose,” Jesse mutters, moving to the bed.

The mattress dips under his weight, and Genji finds himself displaced in more ways than one, pressed to the backrest as Jesse crawls over him.  He doesn’t touch Genji, hovering on his hands and knees, waiting for permission Genji believes they have given each other months ago.  Maybe this time it’s different, spurned by a hundred small realizations accumulating between them.  

“I think,” Genji says, sounding more measured that he feels, “you worry too much.”

“New habit,” Jesse says, lowering his head to bury his face in Genji’s neck.

His beard brushes over Genji’s cheek, voice humming at his throat.  It’s all distantly familiar, tangled dreams mingling in with real life.  Genji tips his head to the side, arm coming around Jesse’s shoulders to draw him in.  Jesse settles over him, a comfortable weight on his thighs and his hand resting over Genji’s chest.  

Jesse doesn’t kiss him, doesn’t follow the heated motions they know so well from each other.  It would be easy to start, to turn this into a moment with both of them panting and moaning into each other’s mouths, but Jesse seems content keep his head bowed beneath Genji’s chin.  It sets something in Genji on fire with a different kind of burn, makes him strangely content as well.

He closes his eyes, letting new dreams overtake him.


End file.
